


Vlastomil Spills the Tea

by CrinklyTinfoil



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Comedy, Gossip, Leeches are a point of contention, Pre-Story, The Apprentice is a force of chaos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrinklyTinfoil/pseuds/CrinklyTinfoil
Summary: The Apprentice is dying from the plague and decides to go out with a bang.
Kudos: 28





	Vlastomil Spills the Tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiba_with_a_Typewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiba_with_a_Typewriter/gifts).



“Really though, I’m just not sure what I’m going to do. Wiggler is such an energetic little thing, I’ve never had a worm who was quite so wild. She really will be a handful when she gets older.”

Vlastomil sits, sipping his tea as he goes on and on about his newest addition to the family. You cough into your sleeve quietly before taking a deep sip of the tea that’s sitting on the table in front of you. You’re fairly sure you are sick, and if you had to guess, it would be from the plague which is currently running rampant through the city.

Being faced with the very keen possibility that you will perish, you’ve found yourself more and more drawn to the courtiers. If you were a better person, you would likely attempt to help quell the rapidly spreading sickness, and even more likely, you would be back assisting Julian, or in Valdemar’s private dungeon helping cure those who are ailing.

Instead, you’ve chosen to seek out Vlastomil so you can both sip and spill tea with him. Of course, right now, the only thing he seems interested in talking about is his new worm Wiggler, and you are practically bored to tears. This was not how you anticipated you might spend your dying breaths. This thought nags at the back of your mind, until finally you decide that since you’re probably going to die shortly anyway, you may as well go out with some sort of bang.

But how to do it? Your eyes flick to Vlastomil, watching as he talks away. He is so invested in worms, you often wonder if the slippery man is hiding something. You decide those are questions for another time, however, as an idea comes to you and you swiftly clear your throat.

“Hey, Vlastomil, did you know leeches are worms?”

He pauses mid rant, and looks over to you, his eyes focusing a little bit slower than they should. “Pardon me?” he asks, sounding completely unsure of how to respond to your little factoid.

“Leeches are worms. I just wanted to check and make sure you knew that.” Vlastomil huffs and stares at you, clearly irritated by the interruption.

“Yes, yes I know leeches are worms, what is your point?” You lean forward, placing your now empty teacup back down on the table. Your body is wracked with the infection, and though you’re not showing any of the more prevalent outward signs, your insides feel like somebody has taken a mallet and ground them into a fine paste.

“Did you know that Julian has rare leeches?” It’s a small fact that you’ve gathered, after watching him for a good amount of time. Julian has a habit of disappearing, only to return with large jars of writhing blood sucking worms, each of them an oddity in their own right. Vlastomil looks at you, blinking slowly, one eye at a time. He seems to be thinking hard on what you’re saying. “Rare leeches… where is he getting rare leeches?”

It is clear that the Praetor looks slightly offended, as though he feels he should be the only one to own worms. As though Julian owning worms is some sort of direct insult to him. You smile, and lean forward, crossing your arms.

“From the Red Market, of course. He has to buy quite a few, I’ve noticed. I’ve seen him feeding them to his dog on occasion, so I suppose he runs out fairly quickly.” This is a blatant lie. You’ve seen Julian lose a leech to his animal one time, on accident, but at this point, you’re just trying to cause trouble.

Vlastomil is on his feet in a second, his eyes wide with an indignant fury and the terror of a mother whose baby is being dangled over a pit full of crocodiles.

“Oh goodness, that is absolutely wretched. I cannot allow it!” With this he sprints off, and you are quick to follow, abandoning your small tea party behind you. You barely manage to keep up with the older man. Despite his age, he is oddly nimble.

Down, down, into the secret dungeon the two of you run. As you approach the lift doors, you see a plague doctor, clad in white, about to enter into the lift.

“Hold it open!” demands Vlastomil in a wail of a voice. You see the poor woman jolt in alarm as she turns to see the two of you rushing forwards. She meets your eye, and you just give her a merry wave.

“Hello Lucia, the Praetor was hoping to have a word with Julian. Is he in?” She wordlessly nods, before stepping out of the way to allow the riled Praetor through. You make a move to step forward, but she blocks you, giving you a once over.

“I thought you were sick,” she says, her voice accusing. “That’s what Julian said.”

Right; he had told you to rest, but you hadn’t felt like it. After all, you were currently dying, and you really saw no point in just lying down and slowly fading out into the great beyond, not as long as you had strength in your limbs. You give Lucia a smile, before patting her on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m totally fine. Now, I better get in that elevator before the Praetor has an aneurism.” She lets you by, but there is hesitancy, as though she can tell you’re someone who’s on the edge with nothing left to lose.

As soon as the elevator comes to a stop, Vlastomil exits, bolting through the crowd of doctors and patients, his eyes set on Julian. The man stands in the middle of the room, an exhausted look on his face as he sketches in a small, worn, leather notebook. He pushes a strand of hair from his brow, unaware of the wrath that is about to fall upon him. He doesn’t remain unaware for long, though.

“Doctor Devorak, I demand an explanation!” yells Vlastomil, causing the doctor to jolt, the notebook nearly sliding from his hands as he turns, There is an expression of utter confusion on his face.

“Where are they? Where are the precious babies you are so callously mistreating!”

“Babies? Mistreating?” Julian looks utterly bewildered as the Praetor marches up to him, folding his arms, a gleam of fury glowing in his eyes. “I assure you, Praetor Vlastomil, there are no babies being mistreated…”

“The worms, the leeches, the rare and precious creatures that you have been feeding to your gangly mutt!” Vlastomil cries, before groaning and placing his hands over his ears. He turns to the room, and yells at them at large.

“Would all of you be silent!? I can hardly stand all of your petty human suffering, you are all so frustrating.” Surprisingly, the moans of the plague victims do decrease ever so slightly as the doctors watch the scene unfolding in front of them in alarm and awe.

“I have done no such thing!” Julian protests, before his eyes drift back to you. “And what are you doing out of your room? You’re supposed to be quarantined… have you really been wandering around the whole palace, infecting everyone!?”

Oh right, you’re a plague carrier. You wonder how many people are going to catch the plague now that you’ve touched a good number of walls in the palace.

“Oops,” you say, watching as the room spins slightly. “Must have forgotten.”

“Don’t change the subject, show me where you’re hiding these leeches or I will destroy this room searching for them!” threatens the Praetor as he bounces up and down on his heels in obvious distress. His pale white eyes flash about the room, searching for worms he knows are hidden somewhere in it. You watch with mild curiosity as Julian looks between you, then back at Vlastomil, clearly trying to choose which problem he’s going to deal with first.

He takes a moment too long to make his choice, as with a cry, Vlastomil marches forward, and begins to knock medical supplies from the shelf, much to the dismay of the doctors about him.

“Praetor, no!” Julian yells, springing into action as he runs forward, grappling with the other man. You glance about, and are amused to find that every single one of Julian’s peers seem to be frozen as well, watching in horror as the scene unfolds. Apparently they have no idea what to do when a grey haired, white eyed man marches in and makes the demand that they relinquish their leeches.

You watch as jars are knocked from the shelves, and their contents splatter across the floor. The Praetor manages to fling Julian from him, ducking behind the raised operating table where a patient is currently strapped down.

“Give me the leeches, you vile wretch!” Vlastomil yells as he grabs a scalpel from the table in front of him, and flings it wildly at Julian. Julian ducks, the scalpel knocking into a jar behind him and sending it plummeting to the ground.

“No, I need them!” Julian exclaims, seemingly forgetting that he stands in a place of medical practice as he grabs a jar of liquid, bright black and sloshing. He hurls it with terrifying accuracy at Vlastomil who yelps, and ducks just in time to dodge the flying jar.

The black liquid spreads out across the floor, causing the audience of doctors and patients to move back in alarm as the scuffle continues. You look about the room, wondering vaguely where Julian would keep his leeches. Your slightly blurred eyes fall on a door that is partially cracked open. A cell of sorts, which has been outfitted with a desk and a whole lot of papers. Inside of it you can see jars, filled with…

“Hey, Julian are those your leeches?” Both men turn to look at you as you point, meek smile on your face, towards the slightly cracked door. Vlastomil is the first to move, but Julian is not far behind him.

“No, NO, that’s my private cell, you can’t go in there!” The scuffle resumes as both fall to the floor. Out of the corner of your foggy eyes, you note with some interest that a sudden chill seems to have entered the room. The doctors are making a hasty retreat and the patients, even those on the brink of death, have suddenly grown far more still. You do not have to wonder long as to why, as a slender figure steps into the torchlight, red eyes darting about at the scene of chaos.

You can tell there’s a smile under that mask, but you know it is one of rage as Quaestor Valdemar makes their way into the partially destroyed room. Their gaze is quick to lock on Julian and Vlastomil before wandering away, gliding over the jar and the scalpels that have been flung against the far wall. No words are said as they move gracefully across the floor, over to the stone well that sits like a fixture in the corner of the room. With a flick of their wrist they open it up, before turning their head back towards the brawling figures on the floor.

In retrospect, you suppose you could warn them, but it’s beginning to get hard to speak due to an odd, painful hotness in the back of your throat. It almost feels like it’s beginning to suffer from a nasty sunburn, which is making it more than a little hard to speak. All of this however is merely a means to justify the fact that you didn’t feel like telling them that the head doctor is directly behind them, and intent on doing them harm.

Valdemar moved like a striking snake, their hands catching both men by the collars and dragging them upwards.

Both Vlastomil and Julian freeze, eyes darting behind them at their captor. Julian’s face goes white with fear, while Vlastomil just looks peeved.

“Praetor, Doctor 069… what have you done to my dungeon?” Vlastomil wiggles, attempting to get free.

“He has leeches, Valdemar, rare leeches. They shouldn’t be locked away in these dismal conditions.”

“And so you two decided to destroy my place of work?” Valdemar asked, and you can tell that their smile is widening as they say each word. You can only imagine the Cheshire cat grin the wear under that mask.

“We, um, we’ll clean it up,” Julian offers hastily, but it is clear Valdemar is no longer listening. With ease they begin to drag Julian and the Praetor backwards, despite the protests they utter. You watch with horror and slight fascination as both are lifted up from the ground, and dropped down with a shriek into the beetle pit. You wonder what the chances of survival are for them, but you do not have long to ponder this as red eyes fix on you.

A moment passes between you, and you get the eerie feeling that somehow, despite all logical evidence, Valdemar is reading your mind.

With a sigh, Valdemar shakes their head, and says with false exhaustion in the voice: “Three corpses for the beetle pit, what a shame.” You glance at the beetle pit, and back to Valdemar, before saying. “But you only threw… oh _wait_ , you mean _me_ , don’t you?” They don’t even need to respond.

You are in no condition to fight as you are lifted up and dragged towards your certain doom. Even if Julian and Vlastomil survive their encounters in the beetle pit, you have little hope for yourself, as it seems the sickness has mostly taken you. Your vision begins to fade as you are lifted up, though really, this is a blessing. In the dark pit below you, you hear the shrieks of those who have gone before, and see the flashes of red that come from the beetles below.


End file.
